


Too Soon

by ThunderFrost2012



Category: Football RPF, Real Person Fiction, Sports RPF
Genre: Awkward Crush, Bittersweet Ending, FIFA World Cup 2010, German National Team, I said almost, Impulsive!Miro vs Rational!Miro, Inner Dialogue, Introspection, Lustful fantasies, M/M, Nervousness, POV Alternating, Paranoia, Pre-Slash, There's a lot of Schweinski too, Thomas can't find proper comparisons, Thomas wants Miro badly, Tiny bit of jealousy, Unresolved Romantic Tension, but you must trust me, everyone is nervous, grouchy Jogi is love, lots of introspection, possessive Mesut is fun, private confessions, there's a tiny bit of angst, those two are almost hopeless, tiny bit of angst again
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-12
Updated: 2014-11-27
Packaged: 2018-02-12 22:28:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2126859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThunderFrost2012/pseuds/ThunderFrost2012
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s the round of sixteen. There’s a very important match to face… and yet there’s something even more important to Thomas and Miroslav.</p><p>And since tempered_rose is guilty for this, because she definitely made me fall in love with the Klose/Müller pairing with her beautiful stories, I owe this little thing to her ;)</p><p>Updated and complete  on 27 Nov 2014</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I: Before the match

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone,  
> A few nights ago I was bored and I decided to re-watch the (amazing) 2010 World Cup match of Germany vs England, and inspiration hit.
> 
> Disclaimer: This never happened (Oh wait, save for the match itself, it happened for real XD), I don’t own/know any of the characters and I only write for fun. (Beta’s note: I don’t know them either, but I sure would love to. ;P)
> 
> Huge thanks to the wonderful Peter, the best beta I could ask for ;)

[](http://it.tinypic.com?ref=a1h3ep)

 

 ** _THOMAS’ POV_**  
  
Newspapers, sports talk shows, broadcastings and every sort of media have announced that Rooney is ready to explode during the match, and that we should fear every of his attacks.  
And also Lampard is one of the players you should never underestimate. Never.  
What can I say about Gerrard? He’s always so unpredictable.  
   
These are at least three good reasons why I should dedicate one hundred percent of me to this oh-so-crucial match.  
Well, saying is one thing, and doing is another.  
Yep, because between saying and doing there’s a wonderful man, an immeasurable champion, a living myth: Miroslav - oh, my God! -  Klose.  
Yeah, I know, I’ve already played the entire qualification round by his side, plus some brief moments during the elimination round and the friendly matches, when I happened to cross his way – also because I guess I didn’t even manage to utter a word in front of him the very first time -, but I still have trouble thinking I’m really here, right now. With him.  
I mean, Miroslav – holy fuck! – Klose!  
   
When I was a kid I used to watch the Bundesliga championship, when he played for Kaiserslautern, then the Korea/Japan World Cup where he was awesome and then Werder Brema … and match after match I kept repeating to myself ‘When I grow up I’m going to be just like him!’  
Right now I feel like an obsessive fan in front of their favorite pop-star/actor/whatever , waiting for an autograph or a picture together.  
Well, it’s not that I want Miroslav’s autograph or a pic with him… no, wait, I wouldn’t mind that… but that’s not the point.  
The point is that I’m so fucking excited that I barely manage to walk and this is only the beginning. Right now we have to start singing the national anthem and he’s close to me. Ah-ah. Funny: Klose is close.  
Dammit, no, Thomas, please, this is not time for stupid puns, it’s time to concentrate and refrain from doing anything weird.  
Geez, he’s been walking next to me since we left the dressing room. Oh god. The memories of an almost naked Miro are flashing in my mind. No, Thomas, don’t go there…  
   
The music starts, we’re singing and my right arm is wrapped around Miro’s shoulder. I’m so tempted to tighten my grip on his T-shirt and never let him go… but that would be on the list of weird things.  
It’s already a miracle that I’m not forgetting the lyrics while I’m singing with him.  
Can this anthem last forever? No, apparently it can’t, it’s time to undo the hugs.  
Maybe it’s better that Miro didn’t touch me, otherwise I would have shrieked in the middle of the anthem.  
Miro is not just a role model to me, he’s more than a mentor and he’s not only my point of reference.  
I think, no, wait, I’m positively sure that I love him.  
   
It’s not that I lack love in my life, I have such a lovely and beautiful girlfriend and I’m going to marry her in a few months, I love her and everything… and yet there’s still something missing, there’s an empty part of my soul.  
A part that only Miro could fill.  
   
It’s time for the game to start and for me to lock all my thoughts and fanatic attitude in an inaccessible area of my mind.  
Because that’s my chance to shine, to prove my value, to impress Miroslav.  
So let’s go… and let’s win!  
Is it only my imagination or did he just smile at me?  
   
§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§  
   
 ** _MIROSLAV’s POV_**  
   
1.) Move to next round. It’s only the round of sixteen, we still have to work so hard to reach the final.  
2.) Contribute to my team, because I’ve never played only for myself, so even if I won’t manage to score, I’m going to make some important assists to allow my mates to do that.  
Well, no, on second thought, it’s better if I score, too. I need it.  
3.) Move forward in the goal scorer worldwide record, I’ve promised to myself that during this championship I must at least reach Gerd Müller.  
Müller.  
Isn’t it ironic? There’s only one thing distracting me from achieving those three aims and this ‘thing’ is a person with the same surname.  
   
Truth must be told, Thomas has already caught my attention even before meeting him, I’ve heard such wonderful things about him, his talent, his determination, all his remarkable progresses and I’ve also watched some of his matches on TV.  
But the things I like the most are the ones about his attitude: Thomas has always been humble, he has no frills and I’ve even been told that he doesn’t like the smart set life.  
   
He’s almost like me, with only one difference: he’s better.  
First of all, he’s funny, very funny. He has immediately conquered everyone in the team with his glee and because he’s so easy going and he always smiles, he has such a beautiful smile, it makes his eyes even brighter.  
It seems like he’s been in our team for years, not only for a few months, and it seems to me that I’ve known him forever.  
   
Truth is that since he’s in the team, I’m out of whack and it’s becoming worse and worse with every match.  
   
I was sure I had certainties in my life, a beloved wife, my beautiful children who I can’t live without, the best family I could ask for … and yet, every time I close my eyes, all I can see is those two sapphire gems, bluer than mine, and that oh-so-bright smile.  
   
That guy has a certain something I just cannot explain, but he unleashes within me a turmoil of feelings that scares me a lot.  
And it’s not because I’m feeling like this for a man, someone of my own gender. Though, yeah, on second thoughts, this should disturb me at least a little bit.  
But, nope, the scariest thing is that I’m feeling this towards a way too young man.  
Thomas is only twenty years old. ‘Man’ doesn’t even fit him; he’s barely more than a kid.  
Oh, gosh, this can’t be happening to me!  
   
And it’s not that fate is exactly helping me. I mean, there are eleven people on the first-string list, eleven, for God’s sake, which means tons of possible combinations. And _who_ is stuck walking next to me since we left the dressing room? Yeah, just him. Thomas.  
He’s even touching me during the anthem, such a soft contact, I wish he’d pull me closer, but it’s better if he doesn’t.  
As a matter of fact, during these short but endless minutes, I have to think about the most upsetting things not to have… well, unpleasant ‘side effects’ down here.  
C’mon, Miro, upsetting thing, upsetting things…  
The war.  
The pollution.  
The Ozone hole.  
Berlin Wall.  
Joachim wearing only a miniskirt and high stilettos shoes.  
Uh, as a result of being around Thomas so much…I’m turning funny as well.  
   
Thanks God, the anthem moment is over, no more hugging, now the game is about to start; so for at least ninety minutes, plus injury time, I’ll think only of the balloon, the qualifications, what’s better for the team.  
Right? Right.  
So why am I smiling at Thomas?  
Stop it, Miro, stop it!  
   
TBC


	2. II: First half

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy the first half of the match through Miro’s and Thom’s eyes… and their inner troubles.  
> p.s. To all the Schweinski lovers, don’t miss the hints here ;)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hellooo again,  
> thank you soooooo much for showing me your interest, through comments and/or kudos, it means a lot. I’m always extra nervous/unsure whenever I face a new fandom/pairing/kind of story.  
> I’ve watched some moments of this match countless times in order to write this part XD Though it’s fiction, I want to put in as much realism as possible XD  
> Beta: Thanks to the wonderful Peter_Ambos as always ^^ , go read his stuff, he’s great :)

 [](http://it.tinypic.com?ref=6fctfk)

**_MIROSLAV’s POV_**  
   
Its lucky for me that at least during the collective, ritual embrace of the team at the very beginning, Thomas is not too close to me.  
Oh, look how cute he is, listening all silently, staring at the ground, all concentrated… geez, I wasn’t supposed to look at him again and he wasn’t supposed to raise his gaze and catch my glimpse. Now I’ll have to look at everyone, casually, not to arouse any suspicions.  
   
The referee’s whistle comes, finally, kick off is for England, but I am positively sure we’ll take possession of the ball, very soon.  
Since I don’t have much to do right now, because Philipp is dealing with that, I can spy on Thomas, just a little bit. He has such a funny way to move or run, a bit clumsy, but he’s impossibly cute, and…  
Oh, it seems that the defense is doing it right; so I should see the balloon soon.  
So, hello again, rationality!  
   
There’s the saying… ‘saved by the bell’, well, I can say …saved by the b _all._  
Wait a minute. Puns? From _me_?! Geez, I’m definitely spending too much time around Thom.  
Uh. Speaking of the devil… look who’s about to take the throw-in.  
Now it’s really time to slide to my serious/concentrate/ready to score mood.  
C’mon, Thomas, choose me!  
   
It seems that my wish is granted and I’m more than glad to pass the ball back to him.  
There’s a good feeling, we understand each other so well that just with a quick glance and we could build something worthy… if only the England’s defender didn’t stop Thomas.  
   
Now he looks at me, troubled and, although no one can see that, my heart melts.  
Nope, dear, don’t worry, nothing happened!  
It seems that he understood, without any need for words.  
Did I already mention the good feeling that we have?  
   
During the last minutes nothing relevant is happening, not in my area, at least.  
England is trying to attack way too much, but our guys are tough.  
The sooner we score first, the better is.  
   
Well, at least, I can observe Thomas in the meantime. Am I looking at him too much? Naah, not even the cameras around seem to notice that, why should Thom?  
   
Now we’re in the middle of eleventh minute and I have the feeling something is going to happen.  
And it does. Thomas stops the balloon that he has just received but he’s bit late and the defender takes advantage of that.  
Oh no, there’s an impact, he hits his ankle, I suppose, and now Thomas is on the ground, he looks hurt.  
C’mon, Thomas, get up, tell me it’s nothing serious.  
   
Damn you, Ashley Cole. Before you were just doing your job, I can understand … but now… you’d better wish Thomas gets up soon, otherwise you’ll be a dead man.  
Geez, when did I turn so violent?  
Thanks God, Thomas is getting up,  
And he even gives the ball back to England, because they threw it off the field when he was on the ground.  
So nice. So fair.  
That’s my Thomas – heart of gold – Müller.  
   
Well… not exactly ‘my’ Thomas. He’s not mine to hug, he’s not mine to cuddle, he’s not mine to kiss… but he’s mine to dream. Every time I want.  
   
Geez, someone throw the ball at me, I’m too frustrated and I need action.  
Oh, right, I guess I’m going to stop that ball… and I’ve run so much that I smashed the corner flag.  
As if I was running into Thom’s arms!  
   
Here we go again!  
C’mon, Miro, get a grip!  
   
§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§  
   
 ** _THOMAS’ POV_**  
It’s the first minute.  
It’s the first throw-in for us.  
It’s the first balloon I’m touching. Well, only with my hands, for now, but it’s a start.  
And _who_ did I choose to pass the ball to? Well, but Miro was available, not man-marked and he’s our main striker. I’m not acting with any hidden agenda!  
Not even now that Miro has just passed the ball back to me.  
I’m going to prove my value, I’m going to do big stuff, I’m going to... noooo! I’ve been anticipated by the defender, just like a lame amateur.  
And now they have even got a throw-in for England.  
I made a fool of myself. Dammit. Now I’m sure that Miro won’t trust me anymore.  
I plead him for mercy with my look and… oh, the way he stares back at me, so reassuringly, so heartwarmingly.  
I could liquefy onto the field anytime, but luckily that doesn’t happen.  
So, thank God, Miro is not angry and something tells me he’s going to give me more chances… with the balloon, I mean.  
   
Well, if I have to tell the truth, I have the strange feeling he’s staring at me once in a while, like when we were doing the opening ritual, for example.  
But, no, it must be a coincidence; I don’t want to mislead myself.  
He’s a Football Legend and I’m nothing. He’s 1000 and I’m zero.  
Why should he ever be even barely interested in someone like me?  
Nope, he just happened to look at me like he could have stared at Mesut, Jerome, Bastian, Sami, Lukas… whoever!  
   
Time is flowing, we’re almost at the end of the thirteenth minute, there’s a too long pass and it’s going to be goal kick.  
Well, not for Miro, apparently, he runs as fast as he can and... where the hell is he going? He has crashed into the corner flag and for what?  
A player could run like that to score or to get a corner or to prevent the other team from getting one… but doing such a thing only to put the ball out-field and spare us a goal kick?  
It’s an almost irrelevant detail and he could have hurt himself. Whoever else would do that?  
That’s it. _I_ want to be able to do that, too, I want that same determination, that strong, fearless attitude of exposing myself, if this can help my team, even if very little.  
   
That’s my Hero. That’s my Miro.  
Oh, it even rhymes.  
There’s only a sad correction: he’s not ‘my’ Miro, he can’t and he’ll never be.   
   
Alright, the ball is coming my way and it’s time to run, a lot. I love running, it clears my mind and god knows how much I need it now.  
I run and run and run and build with all the others – Miro, too – a great maneuver, but Sami sorts of waste it. Oh, well, it’s not so bad. We’ll try again.  
   
It’s almost eighteenth minute and Sami and Basti do something wrong. They knock Lampard down, which means a penalty shot for him, from 28m distance. That’s very, very dangerous.  
   
Ok, now I’m near Miro again, since we’re on the same row, as barrier, but this is not one of the best chances I could ask for.  
Hooray, I managed to stop his shot, the threat is over.  
   
There are still some sorts of maneuver from England until the ball ends out-field and we can sigh with relief.  
Especially when Manu takes such a long run that his kick turns into a direct assist for Klose, who struggles with a defender who attempts to hold him and finally he touches the ball.  
I’ve already raised my arms up and I’m the first to rejoice, even before the ball lands inside the right corner of the goal post.  
Because deep inside I knew he was going to score. Miro could score like that even when blindfolded.  
   
And look how happy he is! So… what am I supposed to do now?  
My heart is screaming ‘Go there, hug him tight and tell him you love him in front of the fucking world!’, but my brain is ordering ‘Contain yourself, control your emotions and, for God’s sake, behave!’  
   
I found a balance between my two advisors, I run cheerfully to him; I ring around him, jump and touch his shoulder with my hand, while he’s rejoicing, sliding on the field, like he always does.  
When he gets up, I can’t resist, I have to embrace him, at least for an instant, as soft as possible and then I move away to let the others celebrate with him.  
But I allow myself to caress his hair, in the scrimmage.  
   
Then celebrations are done and we’re ready to try our best again.  
Oh, look at him, so serious and concentrated again. I almost envy him. He’s so inscrutable, his mind is so focused on the match, I bet he’s thinking about nothing but the balloon.  
   
   
§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§  
   
   
 ** _MIROSLAV’s POV_**  
   
If only I was a bit younger. If only he was a bit older.  
   
He’s just a kid. I could be his father. No, wait, that was a tad exaggeration. Let’s say a brother. A big brother. A very big brother.  
Truth is that he could never be interested in someone so older than him.  
   
And yet I have the feeling that he keeps glancing at me, but probably he does only to study my moves and steal the tricks of the trade from me.  
After all, I used to do that with the older players, back to the days when I was in Kaiserslautern.  
That’s the keyword: older.  
That’s it. I can’t change things.  
   
I had the umpteenth proof he’s not that interested in me a few minutes ago, when I scored. He just cheered politely, but nothing more. It was only conventional.  
He hugged me so lightly and so briefly that I still am not sure if he actually did.  
The others were more involved. Bastian almost kissed me on the mouth!  
Well, I suppose that, in the heat of the moment, he must have mistaken me for Lukas.  
   
Basti and Poldi. Things work so perfectly between them.  
Why can’t I have even a quarter of that perfection with Thomas?  
Why can’t he show me that he cares, a little bit more?  
   
I mean, there are players who when one of them scores roll around on the ground together.  
And I’d like to roll around on the ground with Thomas… or under the sheets of a bed.  
Dammit.  
I’m afraid I’ll have to double the ice cubes in my ice-bath after the match.  
   
See? As a result of all this pondering I ended up offside like an idiot.  
   
Nothing big happened, England tried to score, but Manu didn’t allow it.  
Manuel. At least there’s someone who does know what concentration means.  
I should follow his example.  
   
In the twenty-ninth minute something happen. After Phips’s throw-in and thanks to Mesut's ingenious intuition, Thomas and I build something that could make me score… and I almost do, if only the English goalkeeper didn’t remind to himself that he is, indeed, a goalkeeper.  
   
What matters is that Thomas and I keep having such a great feeling.  
And probably that’s the only thing I can have with him.  
   
And a few actions later our great feeling helps us do something so brilliant that, during the thirty-first minute, we allow Lukas to score.  
There’s no need to say that Bastian almost fights with everyone in the team in order to hug him.  
And Lukas then jumps on Thomas. Well, it’s right. It was Thomas' assist, after all.  
Then why am I so impossibly jealous?  
I don’t even feel like going there and congratulate Lukas.  
I prefer to watch them from the distance.  
Sami, Per, Mesut, Jerome, Basti, Lukas and Thomas. They’re all so cheerful. So happy together. So much younger than me.  
That’s right. Thomas belongs there, with them. Not with me.  
   
   
§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§  
   
 ** _THOMAS’ POV_**  
   
Dammit, I’m the king of bad luck, evidently.  
On twenty-ninth minute Miro could almost score again … but he didn’t.  
This time would have been so different. It was my assist. I would have all the reasons of the world to celebrate with him properly.  
   
I don’t know why my mind keeps picturing hot images that don’t fit much with football, I guess. At least, I don’t recall any player celebrating on field with whipped cream and handcuffs…  
Whatever!  
   
Well, at least I have the conviction that Miro and I are such a brilliant, winning match and probably he thinks so, too.  
   
And said winning match, only a few minutes later, gives Lukas the chance to score.  
Yeah, okay, Lukas did something amazing, but Miro and I built the action, can’t I celebrate with Miro for that? Isn’t there any rule that allows it?  
Nope, also because Miroslav doesn’t even approach us. He’s not in a celebrating mood.  
   
What’s wrong, Miro? Why are you not here with us? Why don’t you look happy anymore?  
   
But Lukas does, especially when, after hugging his Basti good and proper, he jumps on me. He’s so joyful that I can’t help but smile… but my smile would grow wider and brighter if Miro did such a thing, too.  
   
Next, there’s a big occasion for England, but Per, Arne and mostly Manu do a wonderful job, then I try to build something else with Miro again but it doesn’t work.  
In the thirty-sixth minute bad stuff happens. England scores with Upson.  
Well, poor Manuel, sometimes he has to remind us that he’s a human being, too.  
   
But England starts to believe in the match way too much. Just a minute later Lampard ties the game. Or rather… he would, if the referee didn’t annul it.  
Everyone is still wondering why, it was a real goal, but probably it was so quick that the referee hadn’t the time to get sure that the ball crossed the line of the goal post.  
   
What can I say? A bit of luck – Okay, huge luck – never killed anyone, but maybe it killed the English spirit.  
But we don’t need tricks like that. We’re going to win this match. Deservedly.  
   
That’s the last big event before the end of the first half.  
   
We may be winning the game so far, but I’m losing my personal battle.  
   
If I want Miro to notice me, maybe even to admire me a tiny bit, I have to score, at least once.  
   
TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have the chance, go to check this match, when Miro scores, really, for a moment it seems that Thomas and he are the only ones in the world… this is soooo romantic *O*  
> and Thomas is such a cutie pie <3 And Miro… well, he’s the best, always <3
> 
> Hope you like it so far, if I don’t ask too much, please, let me know :)
> 
> See ya for the second half ;)
> 
> p.s. I apologize for ‘Ich Liebe Meine Mannschaft’ updates, but I have to wait for my friend to write it and she’s in a rather busy period…


	3. III: Half-time break

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s half-time break, the perfect moment for some confessions with the proper friends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hellooo again,  
> waahhh thanks so much for comments, kudos, bookmarks, you’re so lovely, I’m so stunned *O*
> 
> Well, this part wasn’t planned. I should have gone straight to second half and conformed to the match itself … but obviously I don’t like conforming too much XD
> 
> Besides, I guess I’m utterly unable to write something without involving dear Lukas and Bastian… so, that’s why you’re getting this interval with tons of interactions … hope you won’t mind!
> 
> An endless THANK YOUUUU to Peter, the best beta I could ask for ;)
> 
> p.s. I didn’t have any picture of the interval of that match to post, so that’s it XD

  
[ ](http://it.tinypic.com?ref=epqgbs)

**THOMAS’ POV**  
  
What a start, what a match, we’re ruling and we must go on like that, during the second half we’ll bring England to their knees.  
  
Uh, wait, this is not exactly what Joachim is telling us. Did I say ‘telling’? My bad, the proper word is ‘yelling’.  
  
Yep, I didn’t even set my foot into the locker room and our coach is already pissed off.  
  
But… why? Did I enter in the locker of the wrong team? Hello, we are the ones who are winning!  
Miro, Poldi, Basti, Arne, Philipp and Per don’t seem to be so impressed by that. Well, I’m new here, so maybe that’s how things work.  
  
If I was the coach, I’d pat everyone shoulder with a huge grin, telling them we’re doing great and then probably I’ll buy ice-cream for everyone. Okay, probably after the match, I don’t want my team to puke onto the field during second half and…  
  
“Thomas, don’t let Jogi catch you while you look so distracted, it’s the last thing he wants to see in his players, especially when he’s giving us the speech!” Miro brings me back to reality.  
  
Wait a minute. Miro came to me. Just _to me_ , to warn me and spare me some Löw’s reproaches.  
He’s my savior. Okay, now I’d better show him I’ve learned my lesson.  
  
“Thank you, I was just lost in my thoughts, but now I’ll be one hundred per cent careful.” I assure.  
  
He smiles, nods and… wait, why is he already walking away? Where is he going?  
I wanted him to stay here with me, not to go to… let’s see, Lukas. He’s such a lucky guy. Sure, he scored, so he gets all the attentions.  
  
Okay, now Löw is babbling something about strategy, tactics and how to surprise the adversary. I nod to show him I totally understand.  
  
And now it’s scolding time again, but this time it’s aimed only at Sami and Basti. Geez, I guess Joachim didn’t swallow that penalty shot...  
Poor guys, they don’t even get a chance to reply something; they just bear all his yells, woefully.  
Well, I just hope Basti won’t lose his good mood after that, I need him during this break.  
  
Finally, Löw is done with his duties, he nods at me – does it mean I’m doing a good job on the field? I hope so – and then he leaves, so we’re free to refresh and relax a little.  
  
But I must take advantage of this free time to do something else, too. Basti is still sitting on the bench, next to Sami.  
I’m about to go there, but Mesut seems to have my same idea.  
  
Mesut notices I’m about to reach the same bench and it seems that he doesn’t like it.  
We lock eyes with each other and I have the feeling of being in a sort of Western film, aka ‘Hey, Gringo, this locker ain’t big enough for the both of us!’  
The only thing missing is a country song in the background.  
  
No way, Mesut, don’t talk to Bastian, I must do that. It’s important.  
  
We’re glaring at each other. I take a step forward. He does the same thing from the other side.  
I’m going to reach that damn bench first!  
Nope, he’s the faster one.  
  
Oh, wait. He’s just cheering Sami up, then he hugs him and drags him away to his spot.  
Mesut casts a victory smile in my direction. Don’t kid yourself, buddy, Sami has never been my goal.  
  
And now that it’s all clear I can go.  
  
“Hey, Schweiny, are you okay?” I greet him, sitting next to him.  
  
“Sure, dear old Jogi barks a lot but he never bites. Plus, this time he was in a good mood!” He shrugs, smiling at me.  
  
I can’t believe my ears.  
  
“ _That_ was his _good_ mood?!” I frown at him.  
  
Basti bursts out laughing.  
  
“Nipper, you still have so much to learn!”  
  
I hate to be called that, but I don’t have time to complain.  
  
Besides, no one is coming around; there couldn’t be a better moment than this.  
  
“So, Basti, you and Lukas...” I commence, casually.  
  
“Lukas and I what? We are good friends...”  
  
“ _Extremely_ good friends.” I point out.  
  
He tenses up.  
  
“So what? It’s not that it’s forbidden!” He defends.  
  
“Nope, of course it’s not; but it’s evident that you’re far beyond simple friendship!” I hazard.  
  
“Whaaaat?!” Bastian replies, giggling, while he arranges his shoes.  
  
You can try as much as you want, buddy, but I can recognize a nervous laughter. Just like this one.  
  
“Okay, maybe you’ve seen us hugging each other, sometimes and yes, we like spending our time together, even off the field, but it doesn’t mean that...” He goes on, tying at least four knots on each shoe.  
  
Yeah, sure, that’s the typical attitude of a calm person who has nothing to hide.  
  
I stop him before he ties the fifth knot.  
  
“Basti, please, you’re offending my intelligence. I know what I’m saying and I know what I’ve seen during these months. Just don’t deny it. I’m not accusing you. I’m just curios.” I explain.  
  
He stares intently at me and then he begins to undo the knots. I’m taking that as a good sign.  
  
“Curios? Why?” He asks me.  
  
Okay, I need some water first. I grab a nearby bottle and take some sips.  
  
“Well, you know, I want to know the dynamics of it. How does it work? How did you find out your feeling was mutual?” I wonder, lowering my voice not to be heard by someone nearby.  
  
You can never be totally sure.  
  
Bastian turns serious and slides closer to me, lowering the tone of his voice.  
  
“At the beginning I thought it was just the excitement of getting a new friend, you know?”  
  
I nod.  
  
“Then I realized it was something more. I spent my nights thinking about him and recalling the moments we had faced together, good or bad ones. I couldn’t wait to meet him again; I was truly happy only when I was with him... of course, that wasn’t ordinary stuff when you meet a new friend!” He goes on.  
  
“Yeah, you’re right. But... how did everything happen? Did you declare to him or...”  
  
“You are such a curios guy! Questions time is over, now, tell me, why do you want to know? I mean the _real_ reason. I’m not that naive!” He urges me.  
  
I’m trapped. I wasn’t supposed to tell him anything, I just wanted to get answers from him.  
I turn my attention to my shoes.  
  
“Oh, Thomas, c’mon! It’s obvious you’re feeling the same way towards someone in the team!”  
  
Shit. Can’t a hole appear beneath me and swallow me in it?  
  
“I need to change my T-shirt...” I attempt to get up, but he grabs my elbows and forces me to sit down on the bench again.  
  
“Not so fast, kid! Okay, let me guess who it is... Sami?” He hazards.  
  
“No way! Besides, even if it was, I guess that Mesut is rather possessive towards him!” I say.  
  
“You’re damn right!” Basti nods, giggling.  
  
“And it’s not Mesut, either!” I anticipate him.  
  
“I got it! It’s Mario! You are so intimate since you’ve been playing at Bayern!” He states.  
  
I'm startled so hard that I hit my head against the wall.  
  
“Ouch! Whaaaat!? No, you’re fucking wrong! We’re just friends and we are not intimate, he’s just stuck to me once in a while and I happen to love a human touch!” I justify.  
  
“Jerome? Per? Arne? Philipp? You know... the Captain’s charm..” Bastian tries to guess again.  
  
“No, no, no and no!” I roll my eyes.  
  
How did I put myself in such awkward situation? Oh, right, my bloody mouth and my crappy ideas…  
  
And now why Bastian is glaring at me so angrily?  
  
“It’s not… Lukas, is it?” He inquires.  
  
Oh, dear God!  
  
“Nope, of course it’s not! I should have a death wish if it was!” I reply.  
  
Bastian resumes smiling at me.  
  
“Well, you couldn’t ever compete against me!” He brags.  
  
Ok, I’m getting sick of this game.  
  
“And no, it’s not you, in case you’re wondering! About your last try, well, you got very close, since they have something in common. He’s Polish, too.” I give up and confess.  
  
Bastian almost falls from the bench.  
  
“Miro?!”  
  
And now he stares at me as if I came from Mars.  
  
“Why are you so stunned? What’s wrong with that?”  
  
“Well, he’s a lot older than you!” he points out, taking a bottle of water.  
  
Age gaps. I hate when people make a fuss about that.  
  
“So what? He’s just more experienced, both in football and in life issues. I could learn so much from him.” I retort.  
  
“Well, you could learn even without getting him laid!” He strikes back, while he drinks.  
  
Ouch.  
  
Dammit, I have two chances to fix this problem:  
1) We move this bloody bench forward so my head stops hitting the wall, or  
2) Bastian must stop being so sharp that he always startles me!  
  
“That’s not the point!” I protest, massaging my aching head. “And Miro is not that old, there’s not that much of an age gap between us, after all. I mean, it’s not that I’m having a crush for … Löw!”  
  
Bastian opens his eyes wide, before spitting the water he’s drinking all over me.  
  
“Geez, Basti! I already planned to have a shower, but after the match!” I snort, grabbing a towel and cleaning my face.  
  
“You and Jogi together?! Ewww,  please don’t give me so disturbing mental pictures, it’ll cost me my efficiency during the second half!” He grimaces.  
  
“No way, we need our best midfielder at a hundred per cent of his capabilities!” I reply. “But now… see? The idea of Miro and me together doesn’t sound so awful anymore!”  
  
“You have some points.”  He recognizes. “You and Miro. Miro and you. Yes, I begin to get accustomed to that, you could even make a cute couple, you know?”  
  
This is like music to my ears, but I don’t want deceive myself.  
  
“Well as if it could really happen! I mean, it’s just platonic and probably only one-sided. I guess that Miroslav barely knows that I exist, so I can’t expect at all that he…”  
  
“Don’t be so pessimistic, buddy!” Bastian winks at me.  
  
Wha- What?!  
  
My inner question must have reflected into my eyes, because he goes on.  
  
“Maybe it’s just too soon to see how things evolve; you know, even between Lukas and me it wasn’t something immediate… but… don’t give up, okay? Maybe you have a chance. Or even more than one.”  
  
I stare at him as if he was some sort of holy oracle.  
  
“So, Bastian, do you really think I’m not that hopeless?”  
  
“I’m just saying that you’ve found yourself a very big challenge and you must win!” He pats my shoulder. “Besides, if I have to tell the whole truth, I had the feeling that Miro kept glancing at you today…”  
  
I can feel my visage brighten. This is just what I needed to hear.  
  
“Really? So, it wasn’t just my imagination. And, tell me, how often did you see him looking at me? When? How did it seem to you that he looked at me? If…”  
  
Bastian suddenly gets up.  
  
“Phips? You’ve just called me, right? I’ll be with you in a moment!” He finds a lame excuse, before leaving me alone with my thousands of questions.  
  
Coward.  
  
Now what I’m supposed to do? How should I behave?  
  
I can’t wait for the second half to start. My dear Miro, get ready, you’re going to see a brand-new Thomas!  
  
§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§

  
 **MIROSLAV’s POV**  
  
As I already supposed, Joachim is not satisfied and he’s already busy yelling.  
Well, what would the breaks be without his reproaches?  
  
After all, he’s right. From the second part of first half on we were letting go, we haven’t been cynical enough.  
But I know good old Jogi; even if our team was winning 6-0 he would sound off.  
  
If there’s one that doesn’t deserve any scolding, it’s Thomas. Save for the very beginning, when he had been anticipated, which it wasn’t something so grave anyway; he has played a great first half.  
  
And he seems to be aware of that. Look at him now, all smirking and daydreaming.  
  
Oh, those dimples that appear whenever he smiles that way, he’s so adorable!  
  
Dammit, despite so much adorableness, I must intervene, otherwise Joachim will catch him so absent-minded.  
  
The last thing I want is our coach to be pissed off at that sweet guy.  
  
“Thomas, don’t let Jogi catch you while you look so distracted, it’s the last thing he wants to see in his players, especially when he’s giving us the speech!” I whisper at him, catching his attention, but not Löw’s.  
The perfect crime.  
  
“Thank you, I was just lost in my thoughts, but now I’ll be one hundred per cent careful.” He smiles at me.  
  
Oh, that dimple again!  
  
I would like to spend my time here with him, talking about nothing and everything, but duty is calling.  
  
Basti is busy getting his reproach, which means that Lukas is free. It’s now or never.  
  
“Hey!” I greet him, while he’s changing his T-shirt.  
  
“Hey!” he greets back, making room for me on his bench.  
  
How could he have already figured out I need to talk with him for a while?  
  
“What a great match, right?” He states.  
  
“Yes, we’re doing a wonderful job and Thomas is playing incredibly well, don’t you think so?” I reply, casually.  
  
Lukas smiles and nods.  
  
“Of course, I wanted to celebrate the way you scored together with you, I’ve always said you’re a champion! I just apologize for not doing it immediately, on the field, but, you know… it was too crowded, I was too concentrated…” I babble.  
  
“Don’t worry. I appreciate that you’re doing it now.” He smiles at me sincerely, patting my thigh affectionately.  
  
“It was a wonderful goal, thanks, in part, to Thomas’ amazing assist!” I add and he agrees.  
  
Did I imagine it or he looked at me in a weird way?  
  
“But England is playing well, too, we’d better pay attention during second half.” He says.  
  
“You’re right, they’re worthy players, maybe they’re too aggressive sometimes. I mean, did you see Cole’s intervention against Thomas?” I make him notice.  
  
Uh, he’s frowning at me again. Why? What did I tell so wrong?  
  
“Tell me, Miro, you’re not here only to congratulate me for the goal, right?”  
  
Damn Lukas, he has always been so good at figuring things out.  
  
“You’re right. I need to talk with you about something. I have this burden and I’m going to explode if I don’t confess it to someone.” I admit.  
  
“That’s what friends are for, Miro!” He smiles encouragingly at me. “C’mon, you know you can talk with me about everything!”  
  
“You and Basti.”  
  
That’s all I managed to say and he’s already changed expressions. Now he looks worried, I’d dare to say guilty, too.  
  
“[Just let me switch to Polish, before someone listens in, there are too many people around here.] ” He suggests, already switching to our native language.  
  
I nod and wait for him to go on.  
  
“[You’re right. Me and Basti. I won’t even attempt to deny that, you’re just too clever, I should have known you would figure out everything quickly.]”  
“[Let’s say that you gave me more than just a couple of clues, already during last World Cup, am I right?]” I question him.  
  
“[Damn right. It happened between Euro 2004 and World Cup 2006.]” He confesses, then he stares deeply at me, there’s a sort of plead in his look. “[Miro, please, I just ask you not to judge me, now that you know. I mean, I know it’s something that is hard to accept, but time will help you get accustomed to that. It’s nothing deplorable and I’m not ashamed for what I feel and…]”  
  
“[Lukas, that’s enough, stop it!]” I interrupt his monologue. “[You’re wrong. I’m not going to judge and least of all despise you. Quite the contrary. I sort of envy you. What you have between each other… well, I wish I could have it, too.]”  
  
Lukas stares at me in pure disbelief.  
  
“[What]?”  
  
“[Not with your Basti, I mean!]” I rush to point out, making him smile.  
  
“[Sure, not with Basti. You’re aiming at Thomas!]” He asserts.  
  
Did I already say how good Lukas is at figuring stuff out, right? But this goes beyond any capability!  
  
I can feel myself blush and my mouth feels dry; I need water! Well, a very alcoholic drink would be more helpful in this case, but I must use what’s here; plus I don’t think that alcohol would improve my performance during second half.  
  
“[Hey, Miro? Are you still there? Please, say something!]”  
  
Lukas sounds concerned. I just gesture at him to wait and I grab the bottle that there’s under the bench, taking a few, essential, sips.  
  
“[Just… how? How did you manage to guess that so quickly? There’s more than twenty people on the team!]” I say.  
  
He chuckles amused.  
  
“[Don’t forget the perfect harmony between Poles!]” He jokes, winking at me. “[Or rather it’s the fact that you mentioned Thomas at least a dozen times since you came to speak to me!]” He adds, more sharply.  
  
“[Nope, I didn’t … did I?]” I jabber and he nods convincingly.  
  
Oh god, Thomas will be my damnation!  
  
“[And… what do you think of it? Do you see me like a pedophile or something?]” I ask him, terrified.  
  
Lukas bursts out laughing. Is he laughing at me?  
  
“[A pedophile? Oh please, Miro, it’s not like Thomas is five years old! Okay, he’s young, but you know, you have always looked younger than your actual age!]” He makes me smile. “[And all together there are plenty of couples with relevant age gaps.]”  
  
“[Yeah, but usually they’re couples consisting of a man and a much younger woman…]” I point out.  
  
“[Well, my friend, you’ll start a new trend!]” He shrugs, making me laugh.  
  
That’s what I love about Lukas, he always turns what I see like an epic drama into ordinary issues.  
  
“[And I’ll tell you more, now that I think about you two together… I like it, you’re so different and yet alike in some things, that you would make a great, complementary pairing!]” He approves. “[But Basti and I will always be the hottest one!]” He makes me laugh again.  
  
“[Well, Thomas and I will be the most platonic one. I told you I feel in a certain way towards him, but I’m totally clueless about his feelings.]”  
  
“[First, tell me, since when have you been feeling this way?]” Lukas questions me.  
  
Uh. Now I realize I’ve never even questioned myself about it.  
  
“[Well, you know, I’ve noticed him since he has joined Bayern, but it hasn’t been a very serene year for me, with all that new concurrence…]” I roll my eyes and Lukas understands me in the  blink of an eye.  
  
“[And Thomas happened to spend a lot of time with said new concurrence, so I’ve stayed concentrated on my career … but now that I’m here, maybe it’s the air of South Africa, but I’ve started looking at him with different eyes.]” I answer both Lukas and myself.  
  
“[Or maybe it’s the fact that he’s spending less time with Mario.]” Lukas adds.  
  
I grin at him.  
  
[Yeah, did you notice that, too?]”  
  
He nods.  
  
“[Well, it doesn’t change anything… what am I supposed to do? I can’t go to him like ‘Hi, Thom, guess what? I’ve been having this huge crush for you that’s getting closer, day by day, to the L-word. Well, have a nice day!’]”  
  
“[Well, it’s a tad direct that way.]” Lukas observes. “[However, do you really think that things went so easily between Bastian and me? No way, I’ve spent more than one year with the conviction that I was hopeless and Basti would have never considered me more than a simple friend. His best friend, at the utmost.]” He confesses.  
  
“[Really? So, how did it happen?]” I inquire him.  
  
“[It happened one year after the Euro Cup, in Lipsia. We’ve been assigned roommates…]” He begins his tale, toying with the laces of his shorts.  
  
Geez, he’s so lucky. I guess I’ll never been assigned as Thomas’ roommate. Damn you, Löw, people shouldn’t be paired only according to their age!  
  
“[I mean, it wasn’t the first time it happened, but I had reached a point that made spending time with Schweiny a real torture, especially when we were out of the field. Being his roommate once again would have killed me. So the first night we were there, at the hotel, I asked him to choose another roommate and he took it badly, telling me that if he annoyed me so much I should have told him since the beginning. We started fighting and I told him he was completely wrong. My problem was the opposite one: I enjoyed spending time with him way too much. So he calmed down and then he asked me why…]”  
  
He’s pausing. Why the heck is he pausing? I absolutely need to know!  
Now I start to understand how Sylwia must feel when she watches one of her favorite soap-operas.  
  
“[So? What happened? Please, tell me!]” I urge him, not very patiently.  
He smirks.  
  
“[Well, maybe it was the level of sexual frustration or it was pure desperation, but… I leaned closer and kissed him. Basically it was only a lingering peck on the lips, but it was more meaningful than thousands words.]” He recalls, softened.  
  
“[And Bastian?]” I almost squeal.  
  
I’m on the edge of the bench, eager to know.  
  
“[Bastian stared at me for a while, in deep silence and those were the longest seconds of my life, Miro. I was sure I had screwed things up, I was sure I had lost my best friend… instead he kissed me back, in a much more demanding way… and the rest is history!]” He concludes.  
  
“[Wow! So you kissed him. wait. Wasn’t _that_ a tad direct?]” I mock him, quoting his previous words.  
  
“[Yep, maybe, but it worked wonderfully!]” He beams.  
  
“[It’s so romantic, but… I mean, you have a family, just like me… so, how do you conceal this from your wife and your son?]” I can’t help asking him.  
  
“[Louis will always be the most important thing of my life and it’s not that I’m loving Monika any less… I neither feel like a bad husband, nor a bad father for that matter. I’m always there for my family. But Bastian is my family, too. Just like Bastian still loves his Sarah, a lot. I don’t know how to explain it, Miro, I guess that there are people, like Basti, me and probably you, who have so much love to give that, maybe, it's too much to be shared with only a single heart.]”  
  
I don’t know why, but his speech sounds so logical to me.  
  
“[I feel better.]” I reveal, hugging him.  
  
“[Sure, I can’t talk of much of an age gap with Basti…]” He babbles and I pull away from him.  
  
“[No way you can, there’s a part of every year when you two are the same age. Lucky you!]” I snort, envious.  
  
“[Hey, don’t blame me, blame fate!”]” He jokes, then he becomes serious. “[The only thing that I can tell you is to go on and fight for Thomas, if you feel that it’s the right thing to do.]”  
  
I grieve.  
  
“[What if it’s not?]”  
  
“[Then keep yourself as far away from him as you can.]”  
  
“Heeeey, you! Stop being so damn asocial! I know you speak ill of us all whenever you do that!” Bastian bursts into us, giggling and slapping Lukas’s chest playfully.  
  
“Sure we do, all the time!” I play his game and then we all laugh.  
  
It’s time to go, the second half is coming.  
  
Before reaching the exit, Thomas crosses my way and casts a very sexy wink in my direction.  
  
What was that for?  Is it just another of his jokes?  
  
Only time will tell.  
  
TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I guess you figured out, parts inside [ ] were in Polish ;)  
> Hope you enjoyed it, pretty pleeease, take a bit of your time and let me know *O* , even a tiny word can make my day :)


	4. IV: Second half

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> those two keep misunderstanding their action towards each other; will they finally learn the truth?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello,  
> sorry for late, I was kind of struggling with this fic XD
> 
> I have the feeling that most of you didn’t like last chapter, so I apologize, really, I had tried my best to make something decent…  
> I just hope this time things will go better.
> 
> Enjoy! ^^
> 
> Thanks to the great Peter_Ambos for betaing ^^
> 
> p.s. I noticed that almost everyone here have a Tumblr (I’m a social network disaster , I barely know what it is) , but I don’t have and don’t plan to have one .. but if you want to chat with me about how amazing German NT , or Bayern, or Lazio is – including other German players playing in other teams – or anything else, feel free to hit my twitter (@CherishedDream4 ) :)

  
[ ](http://it.tinypic.com?ref=2qcfkhe)

**_MIROSLAV’s POV_ **

Okay, we’re ready to begin and, of course, I’m _not_ thinking of Thomas winking at me before.  
Nope.

By the way, he just positions himself on the field, like I do, but there are no more glances from him in my direction.  
And, of course, I’m _not_ upset by that.

We got the kick off, but, geez, we are not focused at all.  
At the first occasion Manu has to kick the ball to us, I manage to stop it, but my action is just more effort than it’s worth, England blocks us immediately.  
And we keep making mistakes!

Okay, dear my National Team, I have one thousand of inner troubles going through my head, but what exactly is your excuse?  
Oh, c’mon, we can’t let them win!

Nervousness is never good, for anyone.

I lost count of the times we threw the ball off the field…  
And no matter if Arne already got a yellow card that weighs on him like a sword of Damocles, he has just attacked Rooney again, in a bad way, which means another penalty shot against us.

From Lampard again, from a bit longer distance than before, but still equally dangerous.  
This is just what we needed.

Oh, Thomas has offered to be in the barrier, look how he’s taking the lead on such issue.  
But I shouldn’t watch this, now.

Lampard is ready to hit, the barrier doesn’t manage to stop the ball and oh, gosh! Crosspiece. God bless crosspieces!

Well, I’m seeing the ball so rarely that that gives me time to make my considerations over Thomas and establish if he's really acting with a certain interest towards me.  
Uhmm, nope, quite the contrary, it seems that he’s definitely ignoring me; he’s so fully concentrated on the game… contrary to me, since the linesman signalizes that I’m offside, once again.

James kicks the ball, then Gerrard makes a mistake and the ball ends off field.

Manuel gets reproached by the referee, because he tried to take the ball at the corner flag, instead of taking the one the ball boy was already passing to him… so he must have been mistaken for someone who wants to waste time.

So, if even Manu starts to show signs of nervousness, well, we have nothing to be happy about!

Thomas seems the only one with nerves of steel…  
Dammit, Miro, get a grip on yourself and stop glancing at him!

This seems to work, because I’m concentrated enough to do something good, but just when I’m about to cross towards Thomas, a damn English player intercepts us.  
Geez, it could have been such a great assist!

Thomas seems to have understood my intentions and smirks at me, nodding with empathy.  
How cute!

A few minutes later, Thomas receives another assist, this time from Sami and he slides on the field, but misses the ball only of an inch.  
Not only Thom doesn’t become disheartened or bothered for that, but he also claps his hand to Sami.

I’ve already said that he has such a golden heart!

Time goes on and just before the fifty-ninth minute there’s another important occasion for Thomas to score, but… I know that I shouldn’t say that, but I’m almost happy he failed.

I mean, it’s _not_ that I’m jealous because it was Lukas to give him the assist; oh, c’mon,  I _can’t_ be jealous of such a thing, I _can’t_ fall in such a childish trap. What am I? Five years old?

And yet I. Am. Desperately. Jealous.

I want to help my Thomas, I want to do something good for him. I want to be the maker of his happiness.  
However, it’s not that he failed, an England defender deviated the trajectory, making the ball end up off the field.

 And now Thomas is yelling at the referee because he didn’t give us the corner –  which we totally deserved!  
He’s even cuter when he’s pissed off.

But I do my job and calm him down with my look and he nods.  
C’mon, my boy, there will be more important occasions.

Oh no, someone pushed Thomas down, but he gets up and shows he’s okay before I have the time to worry.  
Thanks god!

After a few minutes we still risk something; first there’s a kick from Gerrard, which Manu blocks so easily that he could have done that even blindfolded, and then he rushes out the goal post in order to stop an extremely dangerous Defoe, after that Philipp did one of his worst passes ever towards Manuel.

So, we have even our Captain making mistakes… geez, no one will save us from Löw’s fury, after this match!

And no one will save Phips from a good telling-off from Manu…

Honestly, Manuel is one of those people I wish to never ever piss off, along with Bastian.

Uh, by the way, what is Basti doing? Okay, there are a bunch of seconds in which the play is still, but.. does he really find it a good moment to go talking to Lukas?  
Hey. Wait a minute.

What the hell is Lukas whispering to Bastian? And now why is Basti glancing at me, then at Thomas?

Please, someone tell me that this is not happening. It must be only a dream. Or rather a nightmare. Probably I fell asleep on the bench, in the lockers, and we still have to face the real second half. Right?

Nope, it’s not a dream; I’m still here, watching them.

And now Bastian is even grinning like an idiot and Lukas mirrors his action.

I can’t believe Lukas revealed everything to him, I mean, okay, I knew he would, but … geez, couldn’t he at least wait for the end of the match?

I should have known better. Well, the most important thing is that those two keep their mouth shut towards Thomas; as such a revelation would probably destroy the harmony of our team… no wonder if we would tragically lose the match 10 to 2 for England then!

Nope, it doesn’t seem to happen, Lukas and Bastian take their position again and resume playing.

I sigh with relief, but the match is still so long and I want to do something to make Thomas notice me.

§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§

**_THOMAS’ POV_ **

What the hell is happening to us?  
This is not the team who played the first half; we’re not focused at all.

Well, first half was different, also because I started it so close to Miro, but now he seems so distant.  
I don’t even know if it was a good idea winking at him in such a way before…

And Basti dared to say that I have a chance with him... or even more than one… phew!

Now I’d just better concentrate on the match, so far we all keep making stupid mistakes, useless faults, offside positions, given throw-ins to our enemies… geez, this is not the way to play!

Even Manu and Phips did something wrong… and usually they are our rock and our bulwark.

But mostly, we’re lacking attack actions… I need to build something with Miro!

At about ten minutes after the retake, he has almost managed to cross towards me… if only the damn defender hadn’t stopped us!

I would score very easily and then I’d finally have every right to run towards Miro and hug him, celebrating with him.

It’s a sort of football law: there’s always a bound between a goal scorer and the player who gave him the assist.

I’d like to put this theory into practice.

But as the minutes go on and on, I start to think that it doesn’t matter if I can receive an assist from Miro, I just need to score… I was almost doing that thanks to Sami’s pass.

I must not surrender; I’ll manage to become the center of Miro’s attention.

Another very good assist comes in my direction, this time is from Lukas, I kick the ball with all my power, but geez… the defender intercepts it.  
What the fuck? Hey, referee, dammit! Are you blind or what? It’s corner, for us! It’s bloody corner!

I’m tempted to yell a thing or two in his face, but Miroslav manages to calm me down.  
Okay, we don’t need a stupid corner to win!

Someone even tries to brutally push me down, but it’s not enough to stop me.

It’s attacking time for England, once again, let’s say that Manu is not getting bored for sure during this match!

He stops a shot very easily and then… geez, Philipp does a half disaster and I practically can already hear the English people cheering for the goal of the tie… instead, thanks to god, Manuel’s awesome reflex prevents the tragedy from happening.

We have the best goalkeeper in the universe; the other teams can do nothing but envy us!

And now… what the hell is happening? Where is Basti going? To Lukas? Why? What does he have so urgent to tell him? Why are they glancing first to Miro and then at me? And why are they grinning so madly? Could he…

Suddenly, I forget how to breathe.

Damn you, Bastian – I can’t keep my bloody mouth shut – Schweinsteiger!

You’re on my black list now… if I have ever had one.

Didn’t I summon him not to tell anybody?  
Or maybe, I had made him swear that he wouldn’t dare to reveal that to Miro only.  
Or, even more possible, I didn’t give him any restriction.

I don’t remember, but this doesn’t help me feel better for sure.

I just hope they won’t tell Miro a word.  
Geez, I’m so fucked up!

The game is on again; at least I still have something else to focus on.

Bastian runs a lot and then kicks the ball so powerfully that I guess he’s trying directly to score… but it doesn’t work.  
Well, it wasn’t a bad idea. Nice try.

One minute later, Jerome also kicks the ball with all his might.

It has become a sort of competition to find out who is the most powerful kicker.

I wouldn’t mind… if only someone scored, we need to increase the distance.

Geez, Arne snapped again and pushed Rooney down, not so kindly… which leads to another penalty shot.  
From Lampard, once again, from 28m, once again.  
I don’t know if you can be lucky two times in a row…

I’m on the barrier again, between Mesut and Basti… and I’m as uptight as hell.

Great, our wall worked and England is not so fast, so we manage to gain the ball back, I run as fast as I can, pass the ball to Basti, who is from the other side and then I rush towards the goal post, Bastian figures out what I’m planning and throws the ball to me and… that’s it!

I scored! I did it!

I run, I scream and grin happily, jumping, too. I’m about to lift my T-shirt up, but then I change my mind.

Basti hugs me, then it’s Sami’s turn to do it – am I wrong or is Mesut glaring at me? – and Lukas reaches me as well, hugging me from behind and wrapping his arm around my neck.

“Oh, Thomas, I’m so happy for you!” He whispers to me, beaming.

Well, it’s not the first goal of this match … and it’s surely not the first goal I score for the National team.  
Why is he so excited?

But the real question in my mind is… why is Miro not here? Why isn’t he congratulating with me? Why isn’t he showing me that deep inside he cares?

I’d try to look over him, but probably he isn’t even looking in my direction, I bet that he prefers to cheer with Phips, Arne and Per, far from me.

Or, even worse, I’m afraid to turn towards him, finding out that, yes, he is staring at me, but with a cold and emotionless look. I couldn’t stand it.

Despite the joy for the goal and my exterior cheerful appearance … I feel my heart crack a little bit.

But I’m not going to give in; maybe all I need to get his attention is a double.

And there’s still time to make it.

I’m ready to astonish you, Miroslav Klose!

§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§

**_MIROSLAV’s POV_ **

He scored, he brilliantly scored.

I had no doubt about it; he’s such a skillful player.

But the point is… I didn’t take part in this action; I didn’t do anything for him. What right do I have to go to hug him and cheer with him?

It’s far much better if I leave him alone, enjoying his more than deserved moment of glory, with all the others who helped him with that.

Bastian, first of all, then Sami and… geez, I can’t help noticing the way Lukas is cuddling him.

Although I remained here, with Phips and the others, I try to stare at him, but, no way, Thomas doesn’t even turn in my direction.

Oh well, I don’t mind, I just want nothing to disturb such a moment, look at him, so happy and proud of himself; I wish I could always see that light in his eyes, every day that fate will allow me to spend next to him.

Okay, now there’s still a match to play, England seems ready to look for revenge and they’re rushing to our area, but I manage to set it free and kick the ball away, Mesut does a great thing and Thomas once again manages to be there at the right time, at the right place and he doubles!

I’d like to scream to the whole world how impossibly proud I am of this boy!

I run towards his direction, but I lack courage at the last time and celebrate only with the others who already hugged him.

I’m just realizing that it’s too soon, now Thomas just needs to focus on his very promising career, he doesn’t need an older man to turn his world inside out with too big revelations.

I must leave him free. And in order to do that, I have to avoid even the slightest contact with him.

A few minutes later, my agony ends, because Löw decides to replace me with Mario.

Okay, nope, I cried victory too soon, Thomas has been replaced as well, by Piotr.

This means that I’m still stuck to him, I don’t know if I can refrain myself from doing something stupid.

We receive the coach’s compliments and encouraging hugs and we take our seats.

Thomas doesn’t talk, doesn’t even smile, he seems to be rather annoyed.

“Hey, Champion, what’s wrong? You should just be the happiest guy on this Earth after such an amazing performance!” I try to cheer him up.

He almost glares at me.  
Is he crossed at me?

“Why didn’t you congratulate, like the others? Why didn’t you cheer with me? Do I mean so little to you than not even a double can sensitize the mighty Football Legend to consider this newbie, even a tiny bit?” he grumbles, his eyes are teary. “Miro, I know that I will never reach your level, but I’d like to be worthy of your attention...” He whimpers.

All the others are busy watching the match, so, luckily, no one is paying attention to us and there’s not even a camera shooting over the bench.

I can’t believe what I’m hearing. And I can’t believe the way he’s looking at me. This is beyond the simple need of attention. There’s more, so much more, I can feel it.  
Thomas does care, then!

And then I recall Lukas’ words:

_[Go on and fight for Thomas, if you feel that it’s the right thing to do.]_

And, in my whole life, nothing has seemed rightist to me than what I’m about to do.

§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§

**_THOMAS’ POV_ **

I can’t fucking believe it, I succeeded. I scored twice. Thanks to Mesut, of course, but the action started with Miro’s intervention.  
Could it be enough to celebrate with him?

I hug Mesut and, like a magnet, Sami reaches us, then Bastian arrives, even Jerome… what about Miro?

Oh wait, I can see him running to me, I’m so thrilled, probably I’m grinning like an idiot, but… wait!

It doesn’t make any sense, why is he hugging everyone but me?  
Did I do something wrong? Is he mad at me, for some reasons?

Maybe I screwed everything up, I shouldn’t have showed off so much, it’s all so useless…

No matter what I do, I’m not yet in the world of the football players worthy to be remembered.  
So, I can’t be worthy of him.  
It’s still too soon.

If before my heart cracked, now it’s completely shattered.

I’m even glad when the coach decides to take me off the field. I’m just not in the right mood to keep playing again.

I’m so disheartened that I barely notice Mario approaching the field. Probably he’s going to replace me.

Oh, if he had been on field when I scored he would do hug me for sure!

Miro, why can’t you learn from him?

Well, let’s not think about it, the most important thing is to spend some precious time far from…

WHAT?!  
With terror I notice that nope, it’s not Mario who will replace me, it’s Piotr, while Mario is replacing… Miro.

Is Löw making fun of my misery or what?

I’m almost tempted to persuade him to choose another one to take off the field or to let me in again… but it’s just too late.

Fate has a twisted sense of humor; it seems that I’m stuck to Miro again.

I don’t want to annoy him, so I keep silent and quiet, sitting next to him, on the bench.

“Hey, Champion, what’s wrong? You should just be the happiest guy on this Earth after such an amazing performance!” He taps my shoulder, smiling at me.

He’s such a teaser! If my performance was so amazing, why didn’t even bother to tell me before?  
He hurt me and I can’t hold on, I must let him know.

“Why didn’t you congratulate, like the others? Why didn’t you cheer with me? Do I mean so little to you than not even a double can sensitize the mighty Football Legend to consider this newbie, even a tiny bit?” I snap at him. “Miro, I know that I will never reach your level, but I’d like to be worthy of your attention...” I add, with broken voice.  
I’m positively sure no one is paying attention to us.

Miro coldly gestures me to hush, putting his index on his lips.

Geez, this is making things even worse.

And then he leans closer to me, lowering the tone of his voice.

“Do you really want to know why I didn’t come to hug you when you scored?”

“Well, I guess it’s because I’m beneath you, which is true, I’m nothing compared to you, but at least I thought that I.. that you…” I babble incoherently, biting my lower lip.

Miro silences me again, but this time in a softer way, placing his index on my lips and then he smiles at me in such a sweet way that he doesn’t even seem real.

“Hush, please, not a single word more. You didn't understand anything, you know?” He murmurs.

I just stare at him in deep wonder, while he retrieves his index from my lips and brings his mouth to my ear.

Probably, the others around us will think he’s giving me a technical advice or something…

“Truth is that I didn’t hug you before, because if I did probably I wouldn’t have been able to let you go anymore.”

This can’t be happening. It must be a dream. The sweetest dream of my whole life.  
I blink my eyes and he’s still there, smiling at me.  
I smile back at him.

“Do you mean that…”

“There’s a time for everything.” Miro winks at me. “Now let’s watch the end of the match. We’ll talk about it later, in the lockers.” He suggests and I nod.

Can’t wait for the referee to make this match end!  
  
TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now there’s only one more chapter to go ;)
> 
> I struggled with this chapter a lot, so I hope you’ll like it, but feel free to tell me everything.  
> Comments, kudos, anything is more than appreciated ;’)
> 
> p.s. Next update will be ‘Not very (n)ice!’ which is far easier to write for me… expect crazier things and new pairings to come ^^


	5. V: After the match

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miro and Thom have to talk...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hellooooo!  
> I know, I know, I’m shamefully, atrociously late… will someone still remember this story?  
> Thanks for every form of support, you’re so kind ^^ I still hope to see you around…  
> However, here’s the final part:
> 
> edited on 1 Dec 2014, here's the betaed part, thanks to the amazing Peter ^^

[](http://it.tinypic.com?ref=e6wv1z)   
**_THOMAS’ POV_ **

There’s an abyss between how this match started and how it’s ending. And I’m not talking about the result.  
When we started playing today I thought that Miroslav was and would always be a sort of untouchable living myth, something so precious that stands on the most beautiful shelf in a very expensive store with a card below that reads ‘You can watch, but you can’t touch.’

And now I can finally touch! No, even better, I have the money to buy it. No wait, it’s not that I’m saying that Miro’s love can be bought, he’s not a whore… bad choice of allegory, well, it doesn’t’ matter!

What really matters is that now I’m squeezing his hand and it means the world to me.  
After all, I can disguise that with the fact that I’m scared for an incoming action from England.  
No one would question that.

It’s like when there’s a couple at the cinema, watching a horror movie and during the scariest scenes the girl whimpers ,afraid, and search for shelter and protection into her boyfriend’s arms.

No, wait, it’s not that I’m a scared, sissy girlfriend… geez, I should really choose better allegories!

I should just quit it and concentrate on the final minutes of this match.

And now I’m split in two: a part of me wants this match to last forever, so I can stand here holding his hand ‘till the last of my days, making him laugh with my funny comments, whispering to him and glancing into his ice blue eyes without arousing the tiniest suspicious; but the other part can’t really wait for this game to end… so Miroslav and I can start another one, probably a lot funnier than this.

And then, Miroslav bends over me.

“Hold on, Müllie, there are other few minutes left, so we can talk then.” He whispers to me.

Müllie? Well, it’s not the first time I’ve been called this, but it’s the very first time Miro does and it feels so good.  
Oh, the warmness of that, I hope he’s going to call me that again and again. Hum... I should find a cozy way to call him on my own… what about Klosie? I like it.  
But maybe not know, I still have to gain much more confidence with him.

“Hey, are you still on this planet?” Miro brings me back to present time.

“Huh, sorry, I was just lost in thoughts.” I reply in a whisper. “And you were in them.” I add, for good measures, making him smile.  
“Can’t wait to talk with you.” He retorts, patting my thigh gently.

Wait, why does he keep repeating ‘talk’? Oh, c’mon, we’re going to do so much more than that!  
I just smirk back at him in response and I resume watching the injury time of the match.  
Finally the referee decides to whistle.  
As it’s easy to figure out, we won!

I have every right to hug Miro tight, just like I’m doing with every teammate.  
Mario rushes towards me and almost suffocates me in his hug.  
But, for reasons, he doesn’t do the same with Miro, quite the contrary! Maybe I am wrong, but… I could swear that they are icily glaring to each other.

Hug-time is over and we all head towards the lockers. Miro is walking by my side, probably in order to assure himself that Mario doesn’t.

Lukas and Bastian wait until we cross their path and eagerly approach to us.

“Guys! You must absolutely talk to each other!” They urge us in perfect unison.

Miro and I exchange an understanding look and confine ourselves just to smirking and then Miro searches for my hand, holding it tenderly.

“Actually, it’s on our list of things to do.” He informs our two friends, winking at Lukas.

They both grin like idiots.

“So you do know about each other!” Lukas rejoices.  
“Yeah, but mostly it’s reassuring to count on your discretion, Bastian!” I assert ironically, glaring at my confident.

Miro looks puzzled and I don’t know why.

“Wait, it’s Lukas who revealed everything to Bastian.” He informs me.

Probably now I must be the one who looks confused.

“Everything what? It’s me who talked with Bastian!” I retort.

“Hey, are you sure that you really know the whole matter?” Basti teases us, chuckling.

“Basti is right. If you did, now you wouldn’t be quarrelling over who said what to whom!” Lukas makes us notice, while he holds his boyfriend tight.

“Yeah, take us for example; I always tell everything to my Poldi!” Bastian states, affectionately pinching his cheek.

“Damn right, and neither do I have secrets for my Schweini.” Lukas chirps, kissing the point of his nose.

Geez, they’re so sugary that I think I’m going to puke.

“Please, Miro, promise me that we won’t ever be like them!” I whisper to my hero, but he doesn’t reply anything, quite the contrary, he looks so thoughtful.

Did I say anything wrong?

“However, guys, trust us; once we are done with Jogi’s speech, take a moment for yourselves and talk, this time for real.” Lukas advises us, while we all reach the lockers, where our coach is waiting for us, indeed.

From the look on his face you can already tell it’s not going to be fun.

I’m just glad that we’re not the last to arrive at the lockers. Jerome, Arne and Per are still missing, but they arrive a few minutes later.

So now, Joachim Löw’s personal realm of Terror can start.

Well, don’t get me wrong, Jogi is really happy that we won, but he has his personal way to show that, like yelling to us how imprudent and foolish we have been.  
No one can escape from his disappointment: Manu, for some too risky runs he could have avoided – no matter if most of these runs rescued our ass! - ; Philipp, for some wrong passages, Per, Sami and Bastian for useless faults; the defense in general, because sometimes they were too asleep, just like, on the other hand, the attack wasn’t enough incisive… and so on.

But I just have to look at Miro, smiling at me, and the coach’s reproaches sound like honey to my ears.

“And you, Müller, don’t you dare think that you’ve been the best on field, only because you scored twice!” Jogi barks at me. “You still have to learn how to control your temper, you were about to argue with the referee, for God’s sake! Are you bloody nuts?” He reproaches me.

Yeah, like I’ve said: honey to my ears.

Miro wraps an arm around my waist and shakes me gently, in order to comfort me.

“There, there, Müllie, you know, Löw acts like that because he really likes you, so he expects a lot from you.” He murmurs.

“Oh, really? So why didn’t he waste not even a word for you?” I strike back in utter disbelief.

“Well, I probably suck!” He shrugs, chuckling.

My disbelief is even bigger now.

“And you, Klose, you were quite good on first half, then you lost your bounce in the second one… I hope it won’t happen again!” Jogi mutters and Miro woefully nods.  
“I guess you were right, after all.” I whisper to him, beaming and he smiles back at me.

“And now that I said what I had to say, congrats, my guys, to you all, it was a great match and a deserved victory. I’m proud of every of you.” Joachim adds, with a softer tone.

Sometimes I guess he’s schizophrenic, but truth is that I like both of his sides.

Finally we’re free to go and Miro leads me towards his locker, but Manuel crosses our way.

“Round of eight!” He cheers, suffocating Miro and me into his huge hug.  
“And we’re going to make Argentina cry! Wooo-ooh!” He adds, way too happily… something tells me he has already had a chance to drink a beer or two.

“Yeah, Manu, we’re going to fight hard against those guys, but it’s soon to already think about it.” Miro intervenes, while we both part from him.

“Damn right it’s soon, right now it’s all about to party hard! Are you going to join us?” He invites us.

I never say no to a party, but not this time.

“Yeah, probably we will, but later, not now. I need to talk with Miro first.” I politely explain.

“Sure, the well-known Champion must share some technique secrets with the newborn Champion, right?” Manu figures out.

God bless this guy’s naivety!

“Yeah, sort of. So, see you and the guys later.” Miro greets him, a little troubled, while he keeps walking towards the designed place.

Like I wished, there’s no one around here, so Miro and I sit on the bench and silently stare at each other.  
Easy step. Now it’s all about to manage to start to speak.

Geez, this is probably the most embarrassing silence in my whole life. No one has uttered a word for more than two minutes… I have to do something about it.

“So… do you think that Luks and Basti act like boyfriends playfully or they’re together for real?” I ask, in order to break the ice.

And it works.

“The proper question is not if they’re really together, but how long they’ve been. And I have every reason to believe it’s since a very long time.” He replies.  
I figure out everything.

“So Lukas did tell you how things went between them. Bastian didn’t want to tell me a word!” I complain.

“If they feel like, one day they will tell you about that; but don’t count on me, I’m going to keep the secret!” He strikes back.

Well, at least there’s no more tension now.

“How do you think they’re going to party tonight?” I ask him.

“They both played a flawless match; the reporters praised them more than once. So their adrenaline must be so high that… well, let’s say that I wouldn’t be so surprised if tomorrow they’d miss the breakfast with the team because they’re bust having one of their own in the same bed!” He smirks at me.

I know that I shouldn’t be so impetuous and so upfront with him, but… I just can’t help it.

“So, Miro, do you think that tomorrow also you and I could have a breakfast like that?”

§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§

**_MIROSLAV’s POV_ **

Just a bunch of minutes before, when we were still watching the final part of the match, sat close to each other, I was so happy, I felt so satisfied, almost complete.  
And everything felt so right: Thomas’ closeness, his smiles, his looks, his witty remarks about the match, the hints hidden in his body language. Everything.

Then, something in my convictions began to change when I saw Lukas and Bastian acting so affectionately with each other.

There they go!

Now, let’s pretend for a moment that we are not famous football players: if people saw them together, they may think ‘Oh, they look so cute!; but if they saw me and Thomas together they would surely think ‘Geez, look, why did that man blag that poor young guy?’

It’s not that I give a damn about what people think, it’s not that I don’t trust Thomas’feelings, it’s just that it’s not the right time to let it go.

I’m sorry if Lukas and Bastian seem so happy for us, I’m even sorrier if right now Thomas seems so cheerful, but I really can’t bring myself to take such a big step. Not yet.

It’s like playing in a gambling casino. I’m at a roulette and so far I've bet on all the right numbers, gaining a little fortune. And now I can make the final bet and double my win … but I could even lose everything: our friendship, the respect Thomas has for me as a role model, our great feeling on field…

There’s just too much on stake and I’m going to act like a steady player.

That’s why I don’t even know anymore if I’m doing the right thing when I bring Thomas to my locker.

I’m almost tempted to accept Manu’s offer to immediately join the party that he and the other guys are setting, but Thomas anticipated me. Geez, he looks so determined.

So now we are here and the worst thing is that I’m utterly unable to speak. There’s so much more to say that I don’t even know where to start.  
Luckily, Thomas finds a way and we begin talking.

He seems interested in Basti and Luks’ dynamics and I’m fine with that, as long as I don’t have to reveal much, I owe it to Lukas, after all.  
And just when I start to be more relaxed, Thomas brings the topic back to us, with a simple but explicit question.

“So, Miro, do you think that tomorrow also you and I could have a breakfast like that?”

Impulsive!Miro would answer ‘Hell yeah, we wouldn’t leave the bed for two days, the hell with the training!’and then would have his way with Thomas, without thinking about any consequence.

But there’s also Rational!Miro, too and he’s going to overwhelm me. He does think about the consequences and won’t let anything dangerous happen.  
I have to say, sometimes I hate Rational!Miro.

However, Thomas is dying to hear an answer and I must give him one. I guess I’ll beat around the bush.

“You know, Thomas,” I commence, sliding closer to him. “Before you arrived, I was sure I had everything. A beloved wife, a wonderful family, a promising carrier… but then you made me change my point of view, not about my carrier, but about my private life.”

I pause for a while and Thomas nods, allowing me to go on.

“I mean, I love Sylwia, like I suppose you love your girlfriend,” I state and he nods again. “And I always will, but despite my wife’s requited love … I feel incomplete.”

“Like there’s still an empty spot in your soul and you’re waiting for someone to fill it.” Thomas anticipates him, and his tone is so resolute that it doesn’t even seem a question, but rather a statement.

And I’m utterly shocked by the capability this wonderful boy has to read me like an open book.

I find myself nodding, almost against my own will.

“Oh, Miro, it’s the same way I feel! Let me fill that empty spot as I’m sure only you can fill mine!” He offers, leaning riskily closer to me, but I back off, before is too late.  
Thomas doesn’t seem upset by my reaction, quite the contrary, he resumes speaking.

“You know, Miro, back to the first days when I joined Bayern Munich, I had the feeling that you would have never got along with me.” He confesses.

Oh, poor dear.  
I pat his thigh, before giving him an explanation.

“I don’t find it hard to believe. It’s only my fault, I’m perfectly aware that I was unbearable in that period. Thomas, I wish it won’t ever happen to you, but eventually it will: you used to be an acclaimed Champion, admired by everyone and then a new player arrives and you end up living in his shadow. And if first you were always in the line-up, you are turned into a reserve in the blink of an eye. You will even be afraid that you won’t be called to join to the National Team for the World Cup. And, trust me, during those days you won’t feel much like smiling or being extremely friendly with the others around.” I assert.

Thomas squeezes the hand I placed on his thigh and stares at me, almost scared.

“Do you mean that it was my fault?” He laboriously asks.

Oh dear, this guy is just too sweet to be real!

I shake my head negatively and warmly smile at him.

“Nope, Thomas, of course it was not your fault. Quite the contrary, you have been my only sunshine in those dark days, but I still had to figure that out.” I reassure him. “Besides, you were way too busy with Mario to notice anything else!” I can’t help adding.

I didn’t sound too jealous… did I?

Thomas grins like a cat who has just trapped a mouse and now can play with it.

Oh, shit.

“No, wait a minute. Were you jealous?” He asks me and then he laughs, his awesome, contagious, oh so genuine laugh.

“Do I have a reason to be?” I challenge him with my look.

“You can’t answer a question with another question!” He points out.

“But you’re still not answering to me!” I make him notice. “See? I am right, then!”

Now the atmosphere is still serene between us, like I want it to be.

“Listen to me, World Champion of jealousy,” Thomas chuckles. “It’s true, Mario and I use to spend a lot of time together, but he’s only a friend to me, a very great friend, but nothing more, although he would like to have more…” He informs me.

And I don’t like it one bit.

“He wants what?! I guess I’ll have a little speech with him!” I hiss.

Thomas places a index on my lips, smirking.

“Hush. So, do you really want to waste your time with him or… do you prefer to spend it in a wiser way with me?” He murmurs, leaning impossibly closer once again.  
I can smell his scent and, Dammit, this is not helping!

I have to resort to a huge amount of my self-control, not to surrender and I prudently bake off again.  
Even better, I get up from the bench.

Let’s face the truth, right now Thomas is hyper excited, he’s almost as if he was drunk, but not with alcohol, just with the emotions, adrenaline and probably happiness, but it’s a mix of things that is not making him utterly clear headed.

And I just can’t take advantage of him in such a way.

“Miro, what?” He attempts to complain, but I gesture him to keep silent.

“No, Thomas, listen to me. You’re just too young…”

“I was young even when you told me those things on the bench, when we left the field, and it didn’t seem to be a problem to you!” He strikes back, plainly disappointed.

“I’m not done yet! It’s not only that. Right now you’re probably blinded by the footlights shining all around you. First the call from the Youth Alliance to the Bundesliga, then the National Team, the World Cup, the goals you scored… Thomas, the world is spinning at twice its normal speed for you, everything is too chaotic now, everything is happening way too quickly and you’re not totally aware of what’s happening, of the decisions you’re going to take and how it could affect you… “ I try to reason with him.

“Bullocks! Stop treating me like a child!” He snaps, getting up from the bench.

I already knew he wouldn’t agree so easily.

“Compared to what life has in store for you, you’re still a child!” I insist.

“Stop lying to me! Just tell me that you had just fun playing with my heart and my feelings like they were a damn toy and that you didn’t seriously consider, not even for a minute, the eventuality of building something with me, because I’m not worthy!” He venomously spit at me.

But I feel it’s not anger what he moves him to assume such harsh attitude, but only a huge insecurity and lots of sadness.

He’s already wrapped in my arms before he can utter another word.

“No, Müllie, stop talking like that! You’re more than worthy and it’s only because I have a great respect for you that I’m acting like that. We can build something together and it will be a wonderful something, just not now. It’s still too soon and deep inside I’m sure that you know that I’m right. Now you’re seeing that through the eyes of the rage, but one day you’ll be thankful to me for this.” I murmur, holding him tighter and tighter, so much that I can feel his heart beating against mine.

“Do you really think so?” He asks me with ghostly voice and teary eyes.

“Of course, I do. I’m not giving up to my feelings towards you and I’m not asking you to do the same. I’m just suggesting that we need more time to face everything.” I reassure him, feeling my voice croak.

I’m crying, he’s crying and nothing could be more perfect than this moment.

I caress his hair, I wipe his tears from his eyes with my thumbs and then I cup his face with my hands.

“Like I said before, it’s too soon. Right now this is the only thing I can give you.” I murmur, before gently placing my lips on his.

§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§

**_THOMAS’ POV_ **

Miro is kissing me.

A few minutes before I was sure that he was only trying to make me a fool and now we’re kissing.  
I mean, it’s not a passionate kiss; it’s mostly a soft contact between our mouths, lips against lips, his hands cupping my face, my arms locked around his neck and nothing more.

But this nothing means everything to me.

My heart is beating so fast that it could explode in my chest any minute.  
I can’t even exactly say how long our sort-of-kiss lasted, but I feel it’s just too soon when Miro parts from me.

“So, what do you mean with taking some time?” I ask him, still a little dumbfounded.

“Let’s wait ‘till next World Cup.” He suggests.

What?! He’s clearly joking… right?

“Four years. It’s what we need; it’s what you especially need. And if even then our feelings remain unchanged … well, we’ll face that in a more proper and deeper way.” He states.

Oh my god, he wasn’t joking at all.

“But, Miro… four bloody years? It’s an eternity! What am I supposed to do in the meantime?” I whine, staring at him with my best puppy eyes.

“You can grow up, become more mature and see things through the right perspective.” He replies, before winking at me. “Besides, you can keep having fantasies about me, in every way you prefer!”

Geez, he’s such a teaser!

“I guess we have a party to join to now. Let’s go, before the others become too suspicious.” He says, walking towards the exit.

I stand alone in the room for a minute, watching him go.  
Miro, we can wait even ten years, if you want, but nothing will ever change for me!  
  
§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§

**_MIROSLAV’s POV_ **

“Prost!” Manuel incites everyone and we all empty our Tequila shots.

There’s such a cheerful atmosphere, everyone is giggling, someone - the drunkest ones – attempts even to sing, someone else is dancing and we’re just enjoying our victorious night.

After all I have something else to celebrate: I did the right thing, I have nothing to blame myself for.  
It would be so easy to take the easy way and spend the night in bed with Thomas, but it would be only a temporary joy, destroyed by a wearying sense of regret.  
I’m glad that finally Thomas understood my intentions and he not-so-willingly agreed.

Well, I miss his lips on mine, I really do.

And, sure, I can feel his eyes on me even now, in the middle of the party, in the dim light of this pub, in the multitude of the people here.  
I can feel him and when I turn to glance at him he has _that_ look.

The look of someone who is not going to give in, who will fight for what he craves, who one day will reach his goal.

And I know, my dear Müllie, that one day it will happen.  
And it will be unforgettable, and we’ll thank every star in the sky that we have waited until that moment.

But until that fateful day, I just wish I can see that fire in his eyes every time he looks at me.

\--  
THE END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It wasn’t easy to write this final chapter, it took me almost two weeks, so I just hope I did a sort of decent work, but feel free to tell me anything, really!
> 
> I’m accustomed to funnier and fluffier things to write, but sometimes I have to try different stuff.  
> So, if you let me know what you think about it, I’ll be extremely grateful to you. Even a ‘I liked it/ I didn’t’ would be enough…  
> Speaking of fluffier things… geez, I don’t even know what to update first, so I’ll accept your suggestions to decide among:  
> \- Not very n(ice)!  
> \- Highs and Lows  
> \- 1-1:palla al centro  
> \- A new part of the series, involving the Silver Laurel Leaf Ceremony, the Die Mannschaft premiere and the Europe Qualifications… with tons of pairings, not only Kloller ;P
> 
> I’d tend to write the new chapter of ‘Not … ‘ , but if you want to read something else let me know ^^  
> You can even suggest ‘Nothing, just stop writing, for God’s sake’ XD  
> Well, bye for now and thanks for reading ^^
> 
> Lu
> 
> p.s. hit me on Twitter here @CherishedDream4

**Author's Note:**

> Ready for the game to start? ;)  
> So, do you want me to go on with that or should I keep it only to myself? :/  
> *runs away*  
> Goodnight.


End file.
